


A Road Full of Vows

by LORBEERPRINZ



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Byhart Week 2020, Linleth Week 2020, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24604912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LORBEERPRINZ/pseuds/LORBEERPRINZ
Summary: [a collection of works written for Linleth/Byhardt Week 2020]It is undeniable that meeting a certain Byleth Eisner changed Linhardt's life forever. The road to peace is long and harsh, but it is also filled with company, trust and even a few naps as they fight together for the ideal future everyone strives for. Step by step, their lives become more intertwined.
Relationships: Linhardt von Hevring/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 3
Kudos: 39





	1. Promises

It was an unpleasant moment Byleth had walked into. But he had almost expected this to unfold before him, had purposely waited a little while before going to see if Linhardt was alright. The Red Canyon had left an impression on all of his students, Byleth could see this quite easily as even Caspar was going home decidedly less noisy than how he had arrived on this battlefield. Hubert had begun to observe his fellow classmates more closely than before until he retreated into a long, secretive conversation with Edelgard.

Linhardt, meanwhile, had excused himself the moment the fight had been declared won, had disappeared behind the next formation of rocks available under the worried eyes of Dorothea and the others. It was no secret the boy hated violence, cited this as the main reason why he would hardly show up to training sessions.  
However, Byleth had never expected to see him react so drastically during a real battle.

According to Caspar, who he had stuck to during this mission, a bandit had blindsided the two and Linhardt had been able to react just in time to hurl a wind spell at the man. A spell that had also marked the criminal’s bloody end as the razor-sharp gusts had torn him apart, blood flying everywhere. Caspar’s clothes were still full of splatters.  
Linhardt, however, had been hit with the majority of it, even despite the distance between him and the attacker. Almost as if the blood had honed in on the one who had caused these wounds in the first place.  
Caspar recalled how shocked his friend had been upon the realization that he had taken another human’s life, how he had kept staring at the bloody corpse to their feet, to the point where he had not even noticed another bandit sneaking in, trying to get revenge for his fallen comrade.  
Linhardt could have died right there and then.

With all of this in mind, the professor had decided Linhardt was taking a little too much time to retreat to discreetly collect himself and, once he had made sure the other Black Eagles were alright under the current circumstances, followed the mage’s path.  
He found his student right in the middle of throwing up.  
Considering the puddle in front of him, it didn’t seem like this was the first time the boy was doing this.

“Linhardt…”

The mage flew around, arm raised in both anticipation of an attack and to cast on his own. It took him a moment to realize he wasn’t being ambushed again.  
Once he did, the green-haired sunk to the ground, face buried in his hands.  
For just a moment, it looked like he was crying.

Byleth approached him carefully, kneeled in front of his student to get a better look at him. He had to know if the boy was injured, if there was anything that needed immediate treatment.

“Linhardt, look at me for a moment, okay?”

When the mage wouldn’t do so, Byleth firmly but as carefully as possible took the boy’s hands to remove them from his face.  
As it turned out, Linhardt had not cried after all, but what he had not wanted his professor to see was probably the blood that was drying in splatters on his cheeks and forehead. At first, Byleth feared this blood came from injuries his student had received, until he remembered what Caspar had said about the battle.

“It’s okay, Linhardt, you did what you had to do.”

Linhardt immediately freed his hands from his professor’s grip, desperately rubbing the bloody spots in his face until the skin underneath began to turn red itself.

“It’s not okay”, he breathed, then coughed as another wave of nausea appeared to come over him, “it just… won’t come off! It’s everywhere! It won’t… come off...”

Now he definitely looked like he was about to cry, Byleth thought, watching Linhardt gradually struggling more and more to not get his words stuck in his throat as he tried to swallow the nausea and maybe even tears away. Considering how easygoing and laid back Linhardt usually was, often more complaining rather than showing outright disgust or fear, this was a ghastly sight to Byleth.  
He had never expected to see the boy in such distress.

“Calm down”, he whispered, “don’t rub so much. Here…”

The professor drew out a small flask of water and, after a little bit of searching through his pockets, found a handkerchief as well. Wetting the cloth, he slowly and carefully washed the blood from Linhardt’s face in hopes it would finally calm the boy down at least somewhat.  
The mage resisted slightly at first, but quickly let Byleth go on until his face was clean again, wincing when he saw the spots of red that accumulated in the handkerchief.   
As Byleth finished cleaning the boy’s face, the green-haired took a deep breath and tried to shine a weak smile of gratitude. He looked presentable again, in a way at least, although his skin was still red from rubbing, cheeks flushed from the emotional baggage that had come with this battle and its aftermath.  
But it seemed like Linhardt was improving a little bit.

“You did what you had to do”, Blyeth stressed once again.

In response, Linhardt’s tiny smile faded immediately as he groaned and took a little step back from the professor. His eyes fell onto his earlier produced puddle of stomach contents, making him groan even more as he closed his eyes and reached into his pockets looking for a handkerchief of his own.

“You say that so easily, Professor”, he sighed, “as an ex-mercenary and all. How did you feel after you killed a person for the first time? Do you even remember that?”

Byleth hesitated. While he remembered his first kill in some capacity, he couldn’t really tell when exactly it had happened or even how old he had been approximately. At some point, the fights and deaths at Jeralt’s side had molten into one amalgamation of blood.  
What he did remember clearly, however, was what he had felt at that moment  – nothing.   
He couldn’t tell Linhardt this, of course. Byleth was aware that it wasn’t entirely normal, but he had never expected these children to react to this event as badly as they had. And Linhardt was the worst of them.   
Telling him that he had felt nothing all those years ago would just paint an image of him that the professor did not want his students to see. He wanted to help these teenagers, not horrify them.  
He wanted to protect them.

The silence between the two men grew, Linhardt approached the professor again, picked up his flask and took a big gulp of the remaining water. For the first time since they had met in this barren land of rocks, the mage locked eyes with his professor. His grip on the flask tightened until the knuckles on his hand were white as he came even closer to him, with knees so obviously wobbly Byleth feared the boy was about to collapse. 

“I never want to do this again”, he whispered.

Slowly, Byleth lifted his hands to put them on his student’s shoulders. He had to say something now, he couldn’t just leave him with his worries and fears. Massaging the boy’s shoulders lightly, he locked eyes with him once again as the world around them turned silent save for the wind.

“Look, Linhardt…”, he began, “I can’t promise you that something like this will never happen to you again. That would just not be the truth.”

Silence fell between them. The green-haired was about to avert his eyes in disappointment, just as Byleth continued. He wished Linhardt would look at him again, though knowing fully well how indifferent some people claimed he usually looked, maybe it was not such a bad thing after all.   
What was more important was the message he was trying to convey.  
That he wasn’t as indifferent as people said, that he cared.

“But what I can promise you is this: I’ll do everything in my might to protect you from as many of these moments as possible. Not from all of them, sadly, but most. Trust me.”

Linhardt hesitated for a long moment, hardly looking at his professor, who was not sure whether he should expect an actual reply or not.   
As he took a long look at the boy in front of him, this pale face that had not regained its color save for the irritated spots on his skin, blue eyes shining much less than usual, one thing was for sure  – he was not someone who would get used to conflict and death anytime soon. Bloodshed and violence did not fit him.

“I’ll protect you”, Byleth stressed again.

The mage’s answer was a little nod as he returned the flask to its original owner. He sighed a bit and after another moment of silence between them, Linhardt even managed to smile briefly until it was interrupted by a yawn.

“I’d honestly prefer if I could just keep napping without ever having to step onto a battlefield again. I know, that’s… not how it works, this is a military academy, after all. But somehow I… I feel like I can trust this promise at least.”

As Byleth decided it was finally time to reunite with the other students and return to the monastery, he subtly led the way away from the rocks, the canyon, the puddle. He knew he was unable to lead Linhardt away from the memories of this day, there was no use in trying.  
But to Byleth’s surprise and relief, Linhardt caught up with him quickly, smiling just a little brighter and more confident than before.

“I’ll be in your care, professor.”


	2. A Year of Mysteries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Day 2: Academy)  
> Life at Garreg Mach had its good and bad sides, Linhardt was aware of that. Luckily for him, he would encounter a man early in the year who made his time at the esteemed military academy just a little bit better.

It was kind of disappointing in a way. At first Linhardt had thought studying at Garreg Mach would bring some change into the trite days he had experienced within House Hevring. He had burned through multiple private tutors over the years, allegedly all of them had given up as Linhardt’s enthusiasm for whatever they had to teach him had dwindled. The fact that the nobles of Fódlan far and wide sent their teenage children to the esteemed military academy was a more than welcomed opportunity for his parents to teach him what they hoped would be “some more discipline”.  
In fact, Linhardt had liked the idea at first. Not only had he wished for some diversity himself, he knew of the academy’s reputation as an institution that, with its connection to the Church of Seiros and its vast libraries, hosted countless opportunities to learn more about his favourite subject  – crests.

And in the beginning, his days in Garreg Mach had indeed been full of new discoveries. Sure, he hadn’t cared all that much for the regular subjects and even less for combat training, but the library was about as huge as he had imagined and for the free time he did not spend reading or sleeping, there was Caspar.   
But that wouldn’t last very long. Once Linhardt had seen every corner of the monastery, slept under each tree and talked to each student in his class, most things around him returned to being the same, dull everyday occurrences. Even the supposed novelty of being able to study in the same house as the future ruler of Adrestia herself had worn out before long and Edelgard had quickly turned into only slightly more than a constantly complaining, nagging mother. Even his own mother had never been that bad.

Having the “Father of Crestology” around made things slightly more bearable, as he was able to broaden Linhardt’s horizons when it came to crest research, however, after a while, the boy had noticed his interest in the subject becoming a little less with each day. He wasn’t even entirely sure why that was, as studying at his leisure was still way more interesting than doing so for specific class and tests. But after dwelling on it enough, he assumed the reason to be the fact that through Professor Hannemann, he saw how much work dedicated research really was.   
No matter what kind of questions Linhardt pursued, no matter which answers he found, as time passed all of these started to become unimportant.

He found himself wondering whether he should just give up on crest research.

Not helping the situation was the fact that the professor in charge of his class was a dull follower of the church, making every lesson a chore to try and stay awake throughout, until Linhardt decided to just give up and not care.  
Everyone knew he needed his naps, otherwise his brain would not function at all.  
To top it all off, said professor ran away like a little coward, not that Linhardt blamed him, during an outing that saw him and the three house leaders under attack by a group of bandits. His replacement turned out to be a young man hardly older than any of the Black Eagles he was meant to teach, someone who was not only incredibly adept with a sword but also managed to educate his students on the theories and history behind it and any other weapon. Even he could not make Linhardt enjoy training, however, as much as the mage knew it was inevitable  – this was a military academy after all.

And yet, something about this new professor was different. His comparatively flat voice and unflinching face would normally make Linhardt fall asleep on the spot, but during Professor Byleth’s classes, he was drawn enough to the man to make as much of an effort to stay awake as he could. It didn’t change his studying habits, but at least the things he was able to pick up during instructions made his grades rise ever so slightly.  
Edelgard still kept complaining, though, and even the professor occasionally joined in with her, claiming that Linhardt could be at the top of the class, maybe even the entire school, if he just cared enough.  
He still didn’t. But at least, he managed to pass the exams that would allow him to further specialize in his magic, the only type of combat he was able to stand, even if it was just for a while.

Byleth seemed to understand that his students all had different needs, tried his best to accomodate for the quirks Bernadetta, Caspar and the others brought with them. Linhardt was puzzled at first  – weren’t mercenaries supposed to be hardened warriors that have no time for individual feelings when there was money to earn? Maybe his father’s position as the captain of a whole army of holy knights had rubbed off on the young man.  
Whatever it was, Linhardt welcomed it a lot, as it meant that Byleth let him study at his leisure, as long as he brought in results, even delivered papers to him that he would have otherwise missed due to failing to wake up in time for his class. This man was much more caring than Linhardt had expected at first.

And he bore a crest.

One that was said to be lost to history, one that nobody else throughout Fódlan should carry. Linhardt was absolutely mesmerized by this fact, drawn to all the questions and hypotheses it opened up. The longer time went on, the more incredible and yet highly fascinating things came to light about Byleth, things that the man himself had for the most part not known about either.  
That small rumor going around the academy about the new professor having no heartbeat was just the tip of the iceberg.

It almost seemed like the Black Eagles discovered something new about their professor with each day they studied under him, and while Edelgard appeared to be in equal parts cautious and infatuated, Linhardt was simply enthralled whenever he saw Byleth, hoping there was something new he could learn about this man, trying his best to uncover whatever mysteries he still had in store.  
In some moments, Byleth almost seemed like the personification of some abstract concept of mystery to Linhardt, as much as he knew this was impossible. Then again, nothing seemed impossible when it came to the professor. 

Whether it was the Sword of the Creator or Byleth being swallowed whole by darkness itself and yet escaping what was meant to be an eternal prison, the events of the following months unfolded so fast Linhardt hardly noticed his time at the military academy of Garreg Mach was close to coming to an end.  
He was almost sad about it. He wanted to keep watching the professor, study him, discover more and more mysteries around his crest.  
He was too fascinating to let go.

Linhardt almost considered failing his graduation exams on purpose, just so that he would have another year with the professor that enthralled him so. He had made the mage’s life in this place so much better than Linhardt had ever expected before arriving at Garreg Mach, and he was sure he could cope with more time here if he’d be able to keep being with Byleth in return.

He was devastated to learn from Edelgard that none of this was going to happen.

But despite Byleth’s disappearance, despite the war that followed and the changes to his life it brought along, Linhardt was determined to see Byleth again. He knew the other man wasn’t dead. He simply  _ knew _ .  
He had to see him again, otherwise all his time at the academy would lose its worth. The mercenary had surprised everyone before, had prevailed against all odds, surely he was able to do it again.

All Linhardt had to do was wait for it to happen.


	3. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Day 3: AU)  
> Linhardt always seemed like a rather straightforward person to Byleth. He was not prepared for the sort of secret that the boy was hiding from the eyes of those around him, a secret he entrusted to nobody else but his teacher.

Byleth let out a small sigh of relief as he arrived on top of the steps that would lead him to Garreg Mach’s sauna. After a long, hard day of lectures, training and paperwork, he finally found some time for himself, time to relax. His muscles sore and head hurting, Byleth had been immediately on his way to the sauna the moment he had set the last sign under the evaluations for his students.

However, it turned out he wasn’t the only one in need of a good sweat, as he found someone else when entering the dressing room adjacent to the sauna itself.  
Linhardt was just about to unbutton his shirt when Byleth stepped into the room, the two of them looking at each other in silence for a moment. The mercenary was quite surprised, he would have never expected to see the young mage come here on his own volition, as he kept complaining the heat was way too exhausting for him to take. If he wanted to stay warm, he said, he would just crawl under his comfortable bedsheets.  
And yet here he was, nodding a polite hello at his professor before continuing to undress.

“I hope it’s okay if we go in together?”, Byleth tried to confirm.  
In response, the mage nodded again as he put his dress shirt aside, reaching for the one he would be wearing for the sauna session.

Byleth turned around.   
Something was weird, there was something he had seen in the corner of his eye that seemed… unusual.  
It wasn’t the fact that Linhardt stood before him shirtless; his days in a mercenary group had had him see enough men in various states of undress to last a lifetime. But he thought there was something on Linhardt’s back that didn’t quite look like it belonged there.

He took another glimpse as the young noble fished for his shirt and indeed, there was  _ something _ running along the skin of his back, most prominently right on his shoulder blades. It weren’t quite scars or a burn, but it definitely wasn’t normal either.

“Linhardt, if you’re injured, you should have told me and gone to see Professor Manuela.”

The mage flew around, met his professor with big, confused eyes. It took him a noticeably long moment to reply.

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about, Professor. I’m absolutely fine.”

“No you’re not”, Byleth sighed. He wasn’t blind, something was up with Linhardt’s skin, but maybe the boy hadn’t yet noticed it himself, considering it was happening on his back. And yet, it looked so weird, he surely would have noticed it in some capacity, right? It had to be an injury of some kind.

“Turn around.”

Linhardt hesitated, kneading the shirt in his hands. He threw it to the side and picked up his white uniform shirt again and was just about to slip into its sleeves.

  
“Actually, Professor, I think I don’t want to go into the sauna after all. I’m tired, I’ll rather take a nap somewhere. Have fun.”

“No, you won't”, Byleth stressed and the boy froze mid-movement when his teacher decided to not take his eyes off him for even a second. He frowned and bit his lip, letting his shirt slowly glide off his shoulders when it became clear to him that Byleth would not let him go just like that.

The professor cleared his throat as he saw how tense Linhardt had gotten over all of this. That wasn’t really how he had wanted this to go.

“I just want to know that you’re okay.”

With a little groan, Linhardt finally complied and showed his back to his professor once again.  
Looking at it a little closer, Byleth did find it had similarities to scar tissue, but at the same time, there appeared to be a bit of an oddly colored sheen to it. Or maybe it was just the light?  
He took off his gloves and carefully touched the skin on Linhardt’s shoulder blades to find that the texture was surprisingly hard and yet, once again, only slightly similar to a scar.  
Hopefully, this wasn’t some kind of disease.

“Linhardt, have you really not noticed this?”

A sigh.  
“Please just… forget about it, Professor. It’s nothing important, I swear. Just… ignore it.”

“I can’t”, Byleth argued, “you know I’m responsible for you as long as you’re here, I need to know if there’s something wrong with you. Talk to me.”

Another long moment of silence passed, Linhardt clutching the shirt in his hands as he avoided meeting his teacher’s gaze. Then, finally, he sighed once more and turned to face Byleth, frowning so deeply it might as well become engraved onto his face.  
“Fine… but can we go somewhere else, please…?”

Byleth agreed, of course, and just a few minutes later found himself in Linhardt’s room, staring at his student in utter fascination and maybe a little bit of horror.  
Among this sea of scattered books stood Linhardt, sure, but he wasn’t quite how the professor knew him. He had watched as the boy’s body convulsed to give way to changes he had never thought would be possible. Wings sprouted from the boy’s back, exactly where the weird tissue on his skin had been, and lower down his body a long, elegant tail had emerged.  
Byleth was speechless.

The wings seemed to shine in shades of green, not unlike Linhardt’s hair, and the professor couldn’t tell whether this was their natural feature or the light coming in through the window reflecting off their surface. They had a certain air of lightness to them, the skin that would make flight possible was thin enough to let the sunlight shine through and yet seemed sturdy enough to fulfill its purpose.  
From the tip of the wings small protrusions that almost looked like feathers presented themselves, though they lacked all features of a regular feather. A small group of similar things could be found at the end of Linhardt’s tail, lightly swaying with every tiny movement the tail made. While most of it rested on the floor, the tip moved around with every frown Linhardt’s face made, nervously sweeping along the ground.  
At certain angles, the wings and tail almost appeared to sparkle.

As, obviously, Linhardt’s clothes would not withstand this change, the boy stood before him wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his privates, carefully knotted in such a way that the tail could easily stand out. Now that he saw his student like this, Byleth noticed additional spots all over his body, which resembled the ones that had piqued his interest in the first place.  
Slowly, realisation set in why these features looked so familiar; he had seen them being both described and depicted in books found across the library. The skin tissue wasn’t just tissue, it was scales.   
These wings and the tail belonged to a dragon. 

“Linhardt, how…”  
Unable to form a coherent sentence for the moment, Byleth scoured his mind for something, anything, to make sense of this situation. There had to be an explanation for it, but the only person his head would show him was Miklan.

“Oh no”, he breathed, “Catherine already told me you wanted to ... Don’t tell me you took Thunderbrand…”

The mage shook his head, clutching his arms as he once again tried to avoid looking at the other man. His face was flushed, and yet  – or maybe because of it  – he looked entirely miserable standing in front of his professor like this.  
He didn’t have to show it to him if it agonized him so, Byleth thought. Explaining would have been enough.

“I’ve always been like that, ever since I was born. Nobody knows why. It might have to do with my crest, but there is absolutely no documented case of any crest bearer ending up this way, so… who knows. Or maybe it was just being kept a secret all the time because it’s weird and unnatural, I don’t usually reveal it to anyone either. So please, Professor… keep it to yourself.”

Byleth swallowed, his mind was still busy trying to process the sight in front of him. It was definitely different from a demonic beast, that much was sure, but did it mean Linhardt was not entirely human?  
Maybe it didn’t even matter.

_ Weird. I feel like I have seen creatures like him before, but I absolutely cannot remember when or where… This is so frustrating! _

“Professor, can I…”

“Oh, sure.”  
Byleth had almost hoped for Sothis to shed some more light on what she knew about this display in front of both of them, but as Linhardt’s voice drew him back to reality, it seemed as though the girl in his head quickly retreated into silence. But didn’t the form she presented herself with in his dreams have similarly green hair and features?

Slowly, the mage reverted the process that had brought forth his wings and tail, let them seemingly shrink until they had disappeared completely and left him look like nothing had ever happened. Only the small remnants of scales scattered around his body told of his true nature.  
Linhardt breathed a sigh of relief and quickly reached for his clothes to put them on. When he was done, he threw himself onto his bed in exhaustion, embarrassed blush still not leaving his face.

He really didn’t have to show this to him, Byleth thought.  
But at the same time, he was glad Linhardt had; it meant he trusted him enough to reveal this secret to him. The professor swore to make sure to keep it to himself forever.  
And yet, as agonizing as it was for Linhardt himself, Byleth couldn’t help being absolutely fascinated by what he had just seen. It was unlike anything else he had ever witnessed before.  
Slowly, he approached his student’s bed, sat down and waited for a moment to see if Linhardt would calm down a little. When he thought he was at least a little better, he began trying to get to the bottom of this situation with, he hoped, words chosen as carefully as possible.

“So you’re… a dragon…?”

The mage shook his head, still avoiding to let his eyes meet Byleth’s.  
Another moment of silence passed until he finally found the courage to answer.

“No… not at all. I can’t turn into a dragon or anything, I can’t breathe fire, I can’t even fly. Those wings you just saw are way too weak; I can hardly even move them. From a practical standpoint, this entire form is completely useless.”

With a bit of a groan, Linhardt pushed himself up, rose and turned until he finally faced his professor again. When their eyes met, Byleth thought for a second there was something different about them, something he couldn’t quite describe. He didn’t want to call it “non-human”, not even just in his own mind.  
That wouldn’t even be correct.

“Actually, Professor, there’s still more…”

Before Byleth was able to say anything, Linhardt took his hands and guided them towards the green-haired’s head, pressed them against his skull until the mercenary understood what his student wanted to show him.  
He could feel small bumps on each side of the boy’s head, barely noticeable, but certainly there. They weren’t bruises or anything of the sort, that much was clear.

“...horns…?”

“Probably”, the mage replied, “though they have never grown any further than that. Thankfully.”

When Byleth removed his hands again, he ended up sweeping aside some of the boy’s hair, caught a glimpse of his ears for just a moment.   
Was it just his imagination or did they look a little… pointed?  
It was hard to tell with how quickly the green locks had fallen back into place, but at the same time Byleth did not want to probe any further. The amount of agony Linhardt was going through due to this reveal was already great enough.  
But he couldn’t help but think those ears seemed a bit like Sothis’s. Not as long, obviously, but certain features were rather similar. It pained him that she wasn’t commenting on anything they both had just learned anymore, and it was frustrating to not know why.

“Again, Professor, please don’t tell anyone.”

“Of course”, Byleth nodded, “but are you sure you’re the only one with this… issue…? Or that your crest is the source of it?”

Linhardt had let his head sink once more by now, stared at the hands between two of them on the bed. Slowly, the boy’s slender fingers wandered over towards Byleth’s own.   
They stopped right before they would touch.

“No, not really. Nothing that is known about the crests, whether it’s just the Crest of Cethleann or crests in general, has brought me any coherent answer. But I’m sure if it was a widespread phenomenon some documentation should exist, that’s just how science goes. So the only conclusion I can come to is that it’s not normal. The church calls people turning into demonic beasts punishment for their sins, what do you think the Archbishop would say about someone who was born with some of those beastly features?”

Linhardt wasn’t entirely wrong, Byleth had to admit. Rhea seemed harsher than usual when it came to demonic beasts, heroic relics and their connections and if it was true and a case like Linhardt’s had not existed before, nobody could say what she would think of it.  
The only thing the professor really knew was that no matter what it would end up being, he’d make sure no harm was done to his student. Linhardt had no influence over this, after all.

Slowly, Byleth raised a hand, put it on Linhardt’s head to gently ruffle his green strands for a bit.  
“She’ll understand it’s not your fault by any means. I’ll make sure she does.”

The green-haired sighed as he looked up again, maneuvered himself just a little bit closer to Byleth as his fingers brushed along his teacher’s hand.

“Even if that’s true”, he groaned, “even if the church wouldn’t chase me away or declare me a sinner or whatever, it’s just way too much attention. And that’s just exhausting, no matter if good or bad.”

He brushed some of his hair away from its regular position, tucked it behind his ear so that Byleth finally got a full look of it. It didn’t even really surprise him anymore to see that he had been right and Linhardt’s ears were indeed slightly pointed. Not greatly so, but it was definitely visible enough to draw attention.  
But Linhardt also smiled a little, for the first time since they had met earlier in the sauna. The blush on his face was still there, but in the context of this different expression, it didn’t seem nearly as miserable anymore.

“You know, Professor, it’s not like I completely abhor this form. After all, wanting to learn more about it is what fueled my interest in crests in the first place  – though of course I care for crests in general. In this way, it also brought me here, and, if you think about it, to your side.”

He yawned a little, moved even closer towards Byleth until he was able to rest his head on his professor’s shoulder. Of course now of all situations he was falling asleep, but maybe, Byleth thought, that was a good sign. He was finally relaxing after this taxing revelation of his secret.  
“I just want to keep living in peace, you know…”

Byleth nodded. The boy could be sure his secret was save with him, he would make sure that nobody else found out about it. There may not be a cure for something one was born with, no matter how unnatural or useless it seemed to be, but if it didn’t hurt or restrict him, he also saw no need to find a cure or even source. Linhardt’s natural curiosity probably forbade him from letting the matter rest just as it was, though, and if there was one day a way he could help him solve his own secrets, Byleth surely would.  
After all, he knew painfully well what it meant to live a life of not knowing much about oneself. 

He glanced over Linhardt’s shoulder, remembering the sight of his shimmering wings. With a little bit of hindsight and a mind free of the initial shock, he found that they had actually looked quite beautiful.  
Maybe he should tell him that once the boy woke up again, that there was nothing unnatural about them. They were a part of him, that alone already made them as natural as any body part would be. They were just about as important as the rest of him.

Everything about Linhardt was important.


	4. Gusts Between Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Day 4: Seasons)
> 
> Byleth steps outside to escape the confining walls of the monastery for just a moment. As the storm begins to brew, he is joined by one who can withstand the chilling winds much better than he had expected.

The cool wind felt so relaxing. Sure, as the herald of winter it brought some shivers down Byleth’s spine whenever it blew too harshly, but he always welcomed the breeze on his face when stepping outside for a break.  
Now that all of Fódlan had been engulfed in this war in one way or another it was almost impossible for him to find some time to just sit back and enjoy something that was not connected to fighting and death. Being stuck inside the Cardinal’s Room or his own office for most of the week, the young man greatly enjoyed what little free time he could find for himself.

Sometimes, these thick monastery walls felt suffocating.  
Sometimes, just for a few moments, he wished for the freedom of a mercenary.

But this freedom was still far away for now. There were way more important things to take care of.

Byleth sighed for a little, leaned onto the bricks in front of him and stared into the distance as the winds of the Red Wolf Moon gently tickled his face. It danced through his hair, sometimes stronger, sometimes softer, but every bit of it was just as caressing than the last.  
That was, until it picked up as the sky darkened. The air gradually cooled down, with the sun locked away behind thick clouds that threatened to rain down icy drops soon. The once so gentle wind turned into a harsh, frosty gale that was so far removed from its earlier relaxing feel that it seemed it hadn’t even happened on the same day.

“Here you are, Professor.”

Byleth turned to find the familiar face of Linhardt next to him, green locks being thrown around relentlessly by the upcoming storm. They stared at each other for a moment while the wind howled through the trees around Garreg Mach, turning everything around them into one giant wave of noise.

“Were you looking for me?”

The mage nodded and approached his commander, but whatever he was saying was lost to the echoes of the storm. The only times Linhardt really cared to raise his voice was in battle, and that was, at his own admission, only because magic wouldn’t work otherwise. It was a necessity, nothing more, and apart from that he didn’t care enough to be any louder than what a normal conversation called for. Everything else was just way too exhausting, he said.  
But he smiled, so it probably wasn’t anything serious.

“Sorry, Linhardt, could you re – aah – choo!!”

This sneeze came so suddenly and unexpectedly that both men were taken aback by surprise. Byleth couldn’t remember ever having been seriously sick, but maybe he had spent too much time in the cold wind after all.  
Just as it was calming down a little.

“Professor…”, Linhardt sighed with a small, judging shake of his head, “you’re a terrible role model and commander if you get yourself sick... Please take more care of yourself.”

“S-sure…”, Byleth replied as he rearranged his coat over his shoulders. Despite how heavy it was, the wind had pushed and pulled it around so much that it almost slipped off his arms, and at this point he actually contemplated closing it. He didn’t really like doing that, usually, it felt constricting to the point where it distracted him in battle, but maybe, under these conditions, it wasn’t such a bad idea. Linhardt was right, his soldiers were tasked with keeping their minds and bodies ready for battle at every moment, and he too should follow his own orders.

Once he had slipped into the sleeves and properly closed the coat at his chest, he found Linhardt struggling to not laugh, until he gave up and just let it out.  
What was even so funny about this?

“I’m sorry, Professor”, he blurted out after a moment of giggling, “it’s just such an unusual image. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear this coat like a normal person!”  
He went through his hair as the wind picked up again and disheveled his emerald strands again despite the tight knot at the back of his head.  
The gust tickled Byleth’s nose once more.

“Really, professor”, Linhardt groaned after Byleth’s second sneeze, “You know I can’t heal your cold, right? I think we should better head back inside. Actually… here...”

The mage pulled on his shawl until it was freed from its prison under his clothes and quickly wrapped it around Byleth’s neck. As it turned out, it was surprisingly warm thanks to the many layers over one another that its length allowed for. Otherwise, it would probably not do much; while the fabric was certainly expensive, it wasn’t very thick on its own.  
But it smelled quite nicely, Byleth noticed.   
Was it cologne? Did Linhardt even wear any?

“What about you?”, he asked, looking at Linhardt who just stood there right within the wind wearing threads that were surely thinner than Byleth’s.   
Being the scholar he was, he spent most of his time trying to avoid putting any sort of work into steeling his body against the harsh conditions of both nature and war, and more than one soldier had already jokingly assumed this curious healer would probably fall over if someone just as much as poked him. Of course, Byleth knew this wasn’t entirely the truth, Linhardt had the striking ability to fall asleep outside in almost any weather condition and come out just fine. During the first year he had spent teaching these children, Byleth had almost feared to find Linhardt napping under a tree or on a bench in pouring rain or icy snow.  
Luckily, it seemed that Linhardt had enough self-preservation instincts to not to that, at least.  
And yet, he appeared fragile enough that Byleth couldn’t help but worry just a litte.

“I’m fine, trust me”, the mage declared with a smile, “but we really need to put you out of the storm for now.”

He put his hands on Byleth’s shoulders, ready to push him towards the entrance of the next best building. Instead of doing just that, however, Linhardt hesitated all of a sudden, smile vanishing once again. His eyes wandered towards the mountains surrounding the monastery, which were more and more being veiled by dark clouds.  
His grip on Byleth’s shoulders loosened.

“I just… don’t really like this time of year, you know. Everything turns stale and grey, as if things around us just… die. I know that’s not what happens, of course, but I can’t help but feel reminded of death every time I see those bald trees and black clouds.   
I hate it. I hate this season.”

Byleth took Linhardt’s hands, moved them off his shoulders, but never letting go. He wasn’t sure what to say, however, couldn’t really do much but gently squeeze them in silence.  
Another smile appeared on the mage’s face, which quickly transitioned from friendly into somewhat bitter as he looked at two pairs of hands between himself and his commander. When he spoke, it was almost inaudible through the wind that was picking up again.

“Ironically, this grey Red Wolf Moon kind of fits the situation we’re in right now, doesn’t it...?”

The professor sighed just a little, then inhaled again to find the shawl’s pretty smell wandering into his nose. It was kind of relaxing in his own right, he almost found himself wishing he could keep it forever.

“Linhardt, I…”  
He locked eyes with the scholar, trying to get him out of this spiral of dark thoughts. Even if he wasn’t entirely wrong, probably, he couldn’t let him go on with such feelings in his mind and heart, in fear they would follow him onto the battlefield, haunt him until they brought doom over the young man. Byleth wouldn’t let that happen.  
“Let me promise you that by the same time next year, this won’t be a month of war and death anymore, alright?”

The mage stared at him for a long moment until he broke into a dramatic sigh that was audible even over the heavy winds as he freed his hands and let them return to their previous position on the professor’s shoulders, pushing him back ever so slightly.  
“Seriously, Professor”, he began, “you’ve promised me so many things already. Do you do that with all of us? You know you have to keep them, right?”

Byleth turned and let himself be guided towards the building next to them as Linhardt slowly, but steadily pushed him along. When the mercenary looked back, he found the other man smiling just a little more again as he approached Byleth, pushing himself closer to him.

“I’m looking forward to seeing these promises fulfilled, Professor.”

Byleth took a deep breath, let Linhardt’s scent on the shawl relax him once more. Or maybe it wasn’t even coming from the fabric around his neck this time, but whatever the case, he greatly enjoyed it.  
Turning his head a little, he smiled back.

“Yes, I’m looking forward to it, too.”


	5. Adopting a Feline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Day 5: Relaxation)  
> As much as he wished for the contrary, Byleth knew he couldn't push his body to go on forever without rest. So when the weather finally warmed up a bit, he took the opportunity to combine work and leisure at his favourite spot around the monastery. To his surprise, however, it turned out a particularly big kitten had already claimed it for himself.

As the war raged on, it was no surprise how it exhausted the troops and let their morale dwindle by the day. The new year was in bloom, spring was just around the corner and the air outside slowly began to warm up, but the mood within the army was cold. Everyone wanted this to finally end.  
Byleth understood this sentiment very well  – he, too, was tired of the constant fights, but he knew it would keep going on forever if he and the others around him didn’t put in everything they had now.  
He was sure they would bring this all to a close soon.

To keep the men and women fighting for their lives motivated, Byleth advised them to spend their free time doing things that they liked, of which they knew it would refresh their minds and bodies  – cooking, singing, reading, praying, everything was fair game.  
Anything, as long as it helped them survive on the battlefield.

But Byleth was also well aware that he wasn’t the best role model for his own advice. Now that he and the troops were so close to their goal, victory just within reach, his work had piled up, threatening to collapse over him all at once, and left him hardly any time for the things he tended to enjoy. He was able to squeeze in a stroll around the monastery here and there, but that was it for the most part.   
A conversation over tea or lunch, fishing, gardening, all these things just had to take a backseat now. It was kind of sad, really. He almost didn’t know what relaxing felt like anymore.  
And of course, others had noticed this as well, chewed him out for it until he had finally given in.

And yet, he couldn’t quite let his work rest, it was just too important.  
But maybe he could combine the two.  
So when Byleth saw that the sun was in full force today, felt the warm tickles of its light on his skin standing by the window, he grabbed his papers and writing materials and headed outside. There was a place not far away from the graveyard that he had tended to rest at when things had not been this stressful. When he had been a professor, not a warlord.  
A place that made him feel just a little like Jeralt was still there.

Of course he wasn’t.  
But when Byleth arrived on this sunny day, somebody else was.

He sighed a little upon the realization that the spot under his favourite tree was already taken by sheer coincidence and for a second contemplated to leave.  
Linhardt looked so peaceful sleeping there, almost as though he was still the same young boy Byleth had met back then on his first day working for Garreg Mach. War took a toll on everyone, and all these young men and women that had formerly been his students now seemed almost older, more mature than himself, Byelth sometimes thought, but it was moments like these, of serenity and leisure, when it became clear that, luckily, all of them had still retained something of their young selves.  
No, it wasn’t childishness that was still with them. It was their humanity they had all managed to keep.

When Byleth decided to stay after all and sat down next to Linhardt, the green strands began to move. Slowly, the mage pushed himself up just a little, yawned and rubbed his eyes.  
They looked at each other for a moment.

“Oh, it’s you, Professor… That’s good.”

Before Byleth could even ask about the hows and whys of this statement, Linhardt already crawled a little closer towards him, soft, but tired smile on his face. Just a moment later, the mage’s head was on his lap and he drew his knees closer to himself.

“It was already getting a little uncomfortable. The ground is still pretty hard this early in the spring, isn’t it…”

Another yawn, and Linhardt had already slipped back into the land of dreams, and Byleth knew very well there was no use in talking now. The speed at which this man could fall asleep was simply astonishing.  
And maybe just a little admirable.  
Byleth could definitely need some more rest these days.

He looked at Linhardt for a moment, saw the soft wind dancing through his hair. A small leaf had gotten stuck in it at some point, which Byleth carefully removed from the mage, who slightly shifted around as Byleth’s fingers touched his head, but showed no signs of waking up.  
The professor was relieved; he wasn’t here to keep Linhardt from his naps. He already felt guilty enough putting him onto the battlefield over and over again despite knowing fully well how much all the blood and violence repulsed him. But he needed Linhardt’s strength, he told him over and over again, his knowledge of magic was essential to keep the army together. He saved lives.  
He was proud of him and every contribution he made to the group.

However, this setup posed a small problem: with Linhardt’s head in his lap, it was quite impossible for Byleth to continue his work, he had no space to sort his papers and write notes.  
But at the same time, he didn’t want to shove Linhardt away. The ground was indeed still rather hard and cold and even though it seemed as if the mage could sleep wherever he wanted without ever getting sick, it didn’t seem fair to banish him back to the uncomfortable soil again.

As he kept trying to decide what to do, Byleth heard footsteps approaching, which turned out to belong to Caspar as the mercenary awkwardly turned to peek around the tree without waking the other man up.

“Hey Professor, have you seen – oh. Looks like you already found our Mr. Kitten!”

“...what…?”

Caspar grinned as he came closer and knelt to pick out some grass. He reached over, playfully letting the blades of grass tickle Linhardt’s cheek, poking him ever so slightly.

“It’s what the staff back in House Hevring used to call him when we were kids. They said he’s like a little kitten that just curls up and sleeps wherever it wants to. It was probably their way of saying he’s cute without directly saying it or something, but it stuck for a few years. From what I know, he never actually really grew out of it when it comes to some of the housemaids.”  
The blue-haired laughed, and Byleth couldn’t help but join him, if a little reluctantly, carefully. But it was a nice little story and he had to admit he could kind of see where this nickname came from. 

“Anyway…”   
Caspar let go of the grass and rose again.  
“Just tell him when he wakes up that I wanted to train with him for a bit, okay?”  
With that, Caspar already left again and Byleth still had no clue how he was supposed to combine his work with serving as Linhardt’s personal pillow.

He sighed, leaned back and let the spring breeze sooth him.  In his lap, Linhardt moved around slightly, briefly shifted himself into a different position with a small yawn that almost sounded like a happy sigh.  Byleth might be imagining things, but it seemed to him as though the mage was trying to sloppily wrap his arms around his professor’s waist.  
The mercenary reached towards his side, picked up a short grass stalk. He gently let it run along the green-haired’s skin, tickled his ear a little. Linhardt reacted just briefly, but returned to his regular sleep almost immediately.

Maybe Caspar and those housemaids were right, he did seem a bit like a cat sometimes.  
Byleth let go of the grass and instead, had a finger run along the young man’s soft cheeks.  
He laughed just a little. It didn’t seem like he was going to be able to get in any more work anytime soon, but at least he managed to relax, as his tries to not disturb Linhardt too much forced him to breathe so calmly he could almost feel himself become more drowsy by the minute. Combined with the soothing warmth and slight weight in his lap, it nearly felt like a human-sized blanket on him.  
Or, maybe, a little cat.

He yawned.

Maybe it was really time to be more of a role model of relaxation.  
Absendmindedly, one hand began dancing through the mage’s green strands once again before Byleth leaned back and closed his eyes just for a little while.


	6. Under Blue Skies of Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Day 6: War)  
> As the war against the Adrestian Empire wages on, Linhardt is glad his profession of choice lets him stay back behind the frontlines for the most part. However, even with Byleth by his side, that doesn't mean he is completely save...

The clear-blue sky above betrayed the image of this day, Linhardt found. Under this bright sun and the thin, white clouds raged a storm of a battle for military dominance over Fort Merceus as the troops that had formed in an effort to resist the Empire’s operations were pushing closer and closer towards the Adrestian capital and Edelgard herself.  
Linhardt hated this. He could have spent this fantastic day napping under a tree at Garreg Mach or wherever else, occasionally continuing to read a book whenever he was awake.  
But no, he was here, on the battlefield, surrounded by death. The sounds, the smells, the sights of the dying, they were everywhere. Blood and decay lay over the city.  
He was so sick of it.

And yet, he knew he had to be here. Not only had he promised Byleth to do all he could to help his comrades, he also knew that if he stayed back at the monastery and the others would return to report losses among the ranks of their friends, he’d be unable to forgive himself for not helping.  
He was the primary expert on healing, after all.  
Even though he had never wanted to take up this role.

At the very least his role allowed him to stay way behind the frontlines, only advancing carefully when he was being called upon for assistance. While it didn’t mean that he was able to relax, of course, it did mean that he didn’t have to see and experience so much of the bloodshed that was inevitably happening during the course of the battle.  
Having to see the aftermath, the dead bodies and puddles of blood, was bad enough.  
Sometimes he had to stop and take a deep breath or two, to make sure he wouldn’t throw up. Years ago he would have surely done that, just like he had after his very first real battle, but by now it had gotten… easier. Just a little.  
But that little bit of ease already unnerved him greatly. He didn’t  _ want _ to become accustomed to war and death.

“Linhardt!”

The mage stiffened when from around the corner of a building a figure emerged, but to his relief this figure quickly revealed itself to be Byleth, who had left his position at the heart of the battle to come back for him.  
Immediately, Linhardt saw why  – a long cut ran down the other man’s arm, blood seeping through his clothing to paint it deep red. Seeing Byleth injured this badly always made him especially queasy, even though Linhardt wasn’t entirely sure why. Maybe it appeared to him like a reminder that even the greatest of warriors were not indestructible and everyone, no matter how powerful, had a chance to die in this war.  
If he lost Byleth, everything would be over.

He examined Byleth’s wound as carefully as his slowly surfacing nausea allowed for it until he was sure he knew exactly for how long to apply his healing magic as to not overexert himself in the process.

“Professor”, he sighed after he was done, “what happened to your vulneraries? Don’t tell me you already used all of them!” 

The thought that Byleth might have been under such heavy attack that he had already burned through all of the medicine he was able to carry with him was frankly scary. He could hear the screams of battle from across the city but he hadn’t expected it to be that intense.  
Hopefully, all of this would end soon.

“The others needed them more”, Byleth explained as calmly as ever, “so I gave them away.”

Of course he’d do that, Linhardt thought, of course Byleth would put the safety of others before his own. The mage found himself wishing it would sometimes not be that way. It was one of his commander’s greatest qualities, for sure, but he feared it might one day become this man’s doom.

“It should be save for you to advance some more”, Byleth continued, “so let’s go, Li – ”

The unmistakably heavy footsteps of soldiers appeared behind the two and when both Linhardt and Byleth turned, they were faced with a group of enemy reinforcements that had clearly chosen a more covert route onto the battlefield in an attempt to ambush the Church’s troops.  
While they luckily had not been able to get very far, it also meant that Byleth and Linhardt were facing them alone now. Their numbers weren’t high, just four men in total, but they were armed to the teeth, bulging muscles supporting their heavy weaponry.

Byleth’s hand immediately went for his sword as the leader of this small battalion coldly glared at the two of them before changing to a confident smirk.

“Light green hair and golden robes… looks like we don’t even really have to set a foot onto the battlefield, how lucky!”

The ex-mercenary readied himself for a fight, signaling to Linhardt to stay behind and watch his back. He hated it, but there was no other choice, wasn’t there? These men were clearly out for Byleth’s head and if making sure no harm was to come to his former professor meant fighting, he might as well go for it.   
This was no time to sit back and nap.

As expected, the Adrestian soldiers charged at Byleth, who showed no fear in taking on all four of them at once. The Ashen Demon easily demonstrated why he had earned this nickname during his mercenary days, fiercely crossing blades with the men who wanted to see him dead with almost reckless abandon.   
Linhardt stepped back a little, waited for an opening to cast a magic spell that would hopefully assist Byleth in his fight, maybe take the pressure off him. Wind magic  – his preferred kind among the school of reason  – possibly had a too great area of effect that might injure Byleth too if the assailants continued to stick so closely to their target, but a concentrated fireball would also do.

Byleth swirled around the soldiers, cutting down the first of them with one swift strike. The fighter let out a gargled scream of pain as the Sword of the Creator cut through an unprotected part of his body and the blood began to run down from the wound. He collapsed to his knees, then fully fell and moved no more.  
Unlike Linhardt, however, Byleth had no time to dwell on this person’s death, as the next attacker, now enraged that his comrade was killed, already swung his heavy axe at him. He took the assault on with ease, fending off the axe and making quick work of the guy. Now with only two more enemies left, the playing field had turned even.

That didn’t mean there was time to relax, however, and as Linhardt’s eyes darted around to follow his commander’s movements, he saw how the alleged leader of the small ambush charged at Byleth from behind while the later was busy with what turned out to be a surprisingly resilient foe.  
Without even really thinking about what he was doing, Linhardt casted a spell, flinging a fireball at the attacker. The man was hit hard, screamed in pain as the fire burned his unprotected skin. He turned around, glared at the mage and changed his target, hurling profanities at him the young noble had never even heard before in his life.

It was just like back then, when he had fought for the first time. Killed for the first time.  
This body reacted almost on his own, the words for his spell coming out of his mouth before he could even really comprehend what was happening and a cutting gust of wind flew at the soldier from his own home country.

This man could be someone from his territory, even.

As the magic hit the soldier, he screamed again, lost the grip on his sword that fell with a loud clang. He didn’t bother with it, however, looked back for only a moment until he decided to lunge at Linhardt with his bare hands, going straight for his throat.  
The man’s weight threw Linhardt down to the ground, pinned him firmly under the warrior and no matter how much he kicked and struggled, he wouldn’t let go. In his attempts to choke him, the man also made sure that Linhardt was unable to cast any magic spell while the blood from his burn wounds dripped onto the mage’s face.  
He was going to die, wasn’t he.

Linhardt pulled at the man’s hands with all his might to no avail as his grip around the mage’s neck tightened and made it harder to breathe at a frightening pace.  
He was going to die.

For a split-second Linhardt found himself wishing to finally pass out so that he wouldn’t have to experience this pain anymore, wouldn’t have to see the assailant’s enraged, bloody face before him, didn’t have to hear his gargled grunts that almost made it seem like he was greatly enjoying this.  
But just when he thought he couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t breathe at all, Linhardt could feel the man above him stiffening for a moment before the grip on his throat loosened, slightly at first and then all at once.

The man collapsed onto him and Linhardt was suddenly trapped under his entire weight as he gasped for air to the point where he began to cough and almost felt like he had to throw up. Whatever air he was able to inhale was being pressed out of his lungs again by the soldier’s weight on top of him, the stench of his sweat and blood invaded his nose.  
He could feel the blood from his attacker’s wounds seeping into his own clothes bit by bit, heard his last rattling breaths right next to his ear as he died.  
He lacked the energy to free himself, was helplessly trapped.  
This was almost worse than death.

“Linhardt!!”

The dead man’s body was yanked off him, finally letting the aspiring scholar see the blue sky above him again. It almost seemed like he had reached paradise.  
But the stench of blood in his nose unmistakably betrayed this assumption.

Byleth’s face appeared in front of him and as Linhardt regained his senses and his ability to think, it seemed to him like his commander was more worried than he had ever allowed himself to appear.  
He helped Linhardt up, eyes darting around to check for injuries. As the mage himself took a look around, his sight ended up on the dead man under whom slowly a puddle of blood began to form. A dagger was laying next to him  – Byleth’s dagger. Slowly, it dawned on Linhardt what had happened, that Byleth had probably flung his poniard straight into the back of this man’s head or neck to kill him instantly.  
The thought that Byleth had killed someone simply because of him was nauseating. Even though the guy would have probably died anyway. There was just no way he would have survived when Byleth was around.

“Sorry”, Linhardt’s commander breathed, “I should have noticed earlier than I did. This is my fault. Are you alright?”

He still held Linhardt by the arms, supporting him and his admittedly weak knees. The sight of a stranger’s blood on his clothes, the smell of it that would just not leave the mage’s senses, all of this was maddening, sickening. His throat hurt as though it was on fire, he could still hardly inhale deeply or swallow.  
But it got easier by the minute. The blood stopped smelling that bad, the sight of it seemed just like what he had experienced in any other fight since the beginning of this war. He felt sick, but not to the point of throwing up.  
And he  _ hated _ that it was this way.

“Hold still…”

A warm, slightly tickling wave of magic enwrapped the noble’s body as Byleth gently cast a small healing spell on him in an effort to treat whatever wounds he might have received from the attack. Linhardt wasn’t even too sure if there were any injuries in the first place, hadn’t felt any pain, just panic and nausea.  
Thankfully, all of that began to subside little by little. When Byleth was done, Linhardt even found the strength to smile a tiny thanks at his commander.

Slowly, the noises of the world and the battle around them reappeared.  
Byleth let go of his arms, sighed in resignation.

“This is bad… I would prefer if you retreated, but the reality is that we need you out there. But I can’t just leave you here either…”

Linhardt wasn’t even sure himself if he was capable of fighting in this condition, healed or not. He didn’t want to fight, hated that he had made such progress in his offensive magic capabilities in the past months that Byleth would ask him time and again to help out when it was necessary to make a push towards victory, assigned a battalion to him that was focused on damage rather than assistance.   
But he also knew he couldn’t quite refuse to listen to these commands, people – _Byleth_ – put faith into him and his capabilities in both schools of magic. He knew, if it helped ending this war faster, then he had no choice but to fight. And over time, he had become somewhat used to the horrors he had to witness on the battlefield. Even what had happened just minutes ago would soon fade into the great pool of memories from this tyring year.

If only it would finally end.

“It’s fine”, Linhardt whispered, “I’ll come with you.”

Byleth hesitated, looked around, seemed like he was trying to assess the situation from across the battlefield. He sighed once more.

“Alright. But stay close to me, okay? I won’t let anything like this happen to you again.”

Without even waiting for a reply, Byleth reached for Linhardt’s hand, squeezed it lightly for just a second. Their eyes met.  
It almost felt like a repetition of their meeting within the valleys of the Red Canyon all those years ago, when Linhardt had for the first time found himself not only confronted with death at his own hands, but had also experienced the warmth and care of a man that others kept referring to as a “demon”.   
Nickname or not, he was more than that. He was Linhardt’s professor, his commander and more importantly, he was the person he could trust most. Byleth had been right, it was indeed impossible for him to shield Linhardt from each and every terrible situation, but at the very least he made sure to reduce them and that he would be fine afterwards.  
Just as he did now.

He nodded, returned the squeeze briefly and left together with Byleth into the depths of the battlefield, determined to end this suffering as quickly as possible.

One day, he hoped, they would all live in freedom and peace.

That day couldn’t come fast enough.


	7. Our Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Day 7: Future)  
> The war is over, and Linhardt has begun his life at the side of the new Archbishop. As the two of them walk towards the future together, there are still some small things that worry the crest scholar.

This wasn’t really how Linhardt had imagined his new life after the war would go. It was late at night, probably past midnight, when he woke up from some kind of rustling somewhere, thinking in his exhausted and tired mind that it would be Byleth finally coming to bed after a long day of work.  
But that wasn’t the case. Whatever had disturbed Linhardt’s sleep, it wasn’t his fiancé. 

Under the glimpses of moonlight shining through the curtains, he saw the empty space next to him and sighed.  
It had been about two months since the end of the war and Linhardt knew that Byleth was being buried by tons and tons of work due to this fact and his sudden, new position as the archbishop of the Church of Seiros, but he hardly gotten to see him these days, even though they had promised to stay with one another for the rest of their lives.

With a little swing of his hand, Linhardt lit a candle next to the bed, going back to sleep would be futile for a little while. He hated when this happened, didn’t want to sulk and lose sleep over something so trivial and  – all things considered  – so logical.  
And yet…  
Linhardt began playing around with the ring on his finger, watched as the flickering light of the candle being reflected in the colorful gemstones that adorned it.   
Lately, it almost felt like the only proof of Byleth’s love.

_ I want you to be mine, and I want to be yours. _

This was how it was supposed to go.  
But at the moment, it rather felt like Byleth belonged to the entirety of Fódlan, and not to Linhardt at all. Especially within the past few weeks, the crest scholar had noticed how little he got to see his beloved, how exhausted he seemed when he did catch Linhardt awake when turning in for the night, or briefly waking him up to say good night or good morning. Byleth rushed from place to place, met rulers and knights to establish a new order within Fódlan after Edelgard’s demise, Claude’s disappearance and Dimitri’s unceremonious death.  
These were hectic times, for sure, sometimes Linhardt himself didn’t even know how he had ended up here, felt like it hadn’t been a process of six years but rather six days. Time had flown by so fast.  
And yet, Linhardt so deeply wished he could ease Byleth’s mind from time to time, make him take a step back and relax to regain energy, like he had managed in the past. They all would not be here if it wasn’t for Linhardt forcing him to calm down periodically, Byleth kept claiming, but lately, he seemingly tried to avoid the mage’s support as much as possible.

Linhardt rolled around in his bed, pressed his face into the wonderfully soft pillow.  
Was wanting to spend time with the person he loved really all that selfish?

Byleth was drowning, he could see it, and all he wanted was to reach out a hand to pull his head over the water again.   
Otherwise Linhardt, too, would probably drown here.

The mage wasn’t sure for how long he kept lying there in the light of his candle, unable to sleep, until he heard the big doors to his and Byleth’s private chambers open as silently as possible.  
Nothing else happened for another moment, until they closed again and footsteps approached.

“You’re awake, Linhardt, that’s… rare.”

He pushed himself up to face Byleth, who was just about to set his own candle down by his nightstand and freed himself of his heavy, decorated cloak afterward.  
They looked at each other for a long moment. Like in the nights before, the shadows under Byleth’s eyes were deep, his smile when he saw Linhardt weak, but not insincere.

“Something is keeping you up”, Byleth commented after a moment while continuing to undress, “tell me what it is.”

Linhardt hesitated.  
It wasn’t like he had not tried complaining about Byleth’s continued absence from their new, shared life before, and all he had gotten to hear was “I can’t change it right now” or “this is important”.  
Of course his work was important, Linhardt would never deny that, but was it really worth working himself to the bone over? One would think that the workload was becoming less over time as treaties were made and territory was being redefined, but instead, the time they had for each other was what was growing less and less.  
Of all people, Byleth should know this wasn’t healthy.

“You’re the one keeping me up”, he finally replied.

Byleth stopped in his motion for a moment, looked at Linhardt with big eyes.  
“Oh… sorry, I didn’t mean to be too loud for you to sl – ”

“That’s not what I mean, not at all.”  
The mage waited a moment until his fiancé had climbed into their bed, sat next to him so they were able to speak on eye-level. It was always nicer, and feeling Byleth next to him calmed his mind. Shame it was so rare lately.

“Look, Byleth, I know what someone looks like who is constantly tired and exhausted, and you do. No matter when I see you, I’m almost expecting you to fall over from fatigue. I may have lifelong experience with handling this, but you don’t, and I don’t want you to. I want you to be yourself, like before.”

The archbishop took a deep breath, his hands wandering towards Linhardt’s until they wrapped themselves around each other, one of Byleth’s thumbs gently running over Linhardt’s skin.  
“It’s rough right now, I can’t deny that, but I – ”

“ – can’t change it, I know. I know that, but still… Hasn’t your workload become even more extreme lately? What good does it do for anyone if you work yourself to the point of exhaustion? This will neither help building a future for Fódlan nor for ourselves.”

Byleth squeezed the scholar’s hands, gently at first, but a little stronger with each second of silence that passed.  
This was an unsolvable, unwinnable situation, Linhardt was sure, knowing that Byleth was just the person who would choose the good of the greater whole over an individual. He couldn’t quite decide whether this was a good or a bad thing, whether he should be angry or disappointed or anything else. He was too tired for these sort of feelings right now.  
But he knew something had to change.  
He didn’t want to see Byleth keep ruining himself.

“You’re right, what I do is for the future of Fódlan. But this is the only way I can ensure a good future for everyone  – and especially for us. I want this peace to be maintained for as long as possible, so you can live in peace, Linhardt. I don’t want you to be caught up in war and violence ever again, and I want to be by your side so I can ensure it won’t ever happen again. That’s all. So please bear with me just a little longer…”

Linhardt returned the squeeze lightly, inched a little closer towards Byleth until he was able to lean against him and let his head rest on his shoulder, feeling the gentle warmth he had come to love so much.  
“But what worth does my future have when it comes at the cost of your health…?”

“I promise, things will calm down soon”, Byleth replied.

For a moment, the mage wasn’t sure what to think of this. He had heard so many promises from the other man throughout the time they’ve known each other, it was almost impossible for him to count them all. As early as their first real battle Byleth had entangled him with these words, only for these promises to pile up every time another unexpected, awful thing had happened. He knew Linhardt believed in these promises, that they eased his mind and soul and made him able to go on. He had never stopped believing in them.  
And, if Linhardt really thought about it, so far Byleth had been able to keep all of them. He had found ways to keep Linhardt from having to engage in too many bloody fights, had brought peace to the world and saved as many former students as possible.  
There was no reason to not believe in his promises, was there?

“No”, Byleth suddenly continued, “let’s stop with the promises. Instead, I  _ guarantee _ you things will change soon. Because in just another month or two, the prime reason why I’m so busy right now will happen and after that everything will be back to normal.”

“...and what would that prime reason be…?”  
Linhardt kind of expected a big political meeting between Byleth and the new rulers of the three countries of Fódlan that was planned to end in a big shaking of hands and everyone would walk out with defined laws, territories and contracts and the vows to ensure the support and peace for the people of Fódlan for all eternity. Or something equally grand like that.

Byleth laughed a little as he freed his hands from Linhardt’s, just to take them again, much more gently this time, holding the mage’s long fingers tightly, but not unpleasantly.   
“Well, I suppose now that I already said it this way, I really do have to tell you what I’m working on, right…”  
He locked eyes with Linhardt and for a moment it seemed to the green-haired as though a faint blush made its way onto his partner’s cheeks as he broke into a bright, yet just a little awkward smile. He looked almost cute like this, Linhardt thought, and couldn’t help but return the smile with anticipation. With this kind of fuss Byleth was suddenly making in the middle of the night, it had to be something big.

“I wanted to tell you in a slightly more appropriate moment, but what I’m planning right now is our wedding.”

This was indeed something big.  
In fact, it was so big Linhardt couldn’t even reply anything, just stared at Byleth as the other man continued to speak.  
This was the reason why the archbishop had been overworking himself in the past weeks?

“It’s probably weird, because I never really asked you if you’d even want to marry me, but… I figured if I surprise you, I’d…”  
He trailed off, looked at Linhardt who was still unable to form any coherent sentence. Surprise, tiredness, he wasn’t even sure why this was the case, but the knot that was forming in his throat made it practically impossible to say anything, express anything.

The entangled hands between the two sank as Byleth sighed a little and his smile seemed to fade.  
“Maybe this really was way too early. I’m sorry, I – ”

“No, not at all!”

Finally, Linhardt managed to free himself from his initial shock, felt his heart start beating again, so fast it was as if it wanted to burst out of his chest. He pressed his hands into Byleth’s stronger than he had ever pressed before, just so that the other man would hopefully not let go.  
There still was hardly a coherent thought in his mind, he found it almost impossible to put his excitement into words. But he knew one thing: Byleth truly wanted to be with him.  
Linhardt had hardly ever thought about marriage so far, knew that other things were way more important and that Byleth was probably too busy to think about it for the time being. He was alright with that, was in no rush, it didn’t matter as long as they could be together.  
But he wasn’t against it either, would gladly carry Byleth’s name and the position at his side as his spouse. 

In fact, it was how he had envisioned their future together, one day, when everything had calmed down.  
The future that Byleth was working towards so hard.  
And if this was what would ease Byleth’s mind and workload, it was most definitely not too early. Linhardt would marry him on the spot if he could.

“It’s not too early at all!”

The scholar let go of Byleth’s hands, if only to change to a tight embrace. He didn’t even know where all that strength for this came from, considering how tired he had been before, but now it was as if all exhaustion from sleeplessness had been blown away by just a few words.  
He felt his fiancé return the embrace, stayed like this for a little while until they loosened it just enough to look at each other and share a long kiss a moment later.  
This probably looked like the least spectacular marriage proposal in history, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was that they would walk into the future together, their own future, working on it step by step.

“I hope I won’t pull you into too much stress like this either”, Byleth whispered as the two of them quickly doused the candles and sunk back into their bedsheets, enjoying each other’s warmth. He let a hand ran through Linhardt’s hair just briefly.

“It’s okay”, the mage whispered back, watching the moonlight reflect in Byleth’s eyes, an even more beautiful sight than the ring.

“I’ll be in your care, Byleth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This marks the last fic for Byhardt/Linleth Week 2020. Thank you so much everyone for organizing this great week and of course all of you for reading! Even though I was under quite some time crunch for a few of those fics, writing them was still a lot of fun and a very cool excercise that I hadn't done in a long time. I hope you enjoyed my small contributions <3

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I sadly haven't been writing as much as I would have liked to lately, but this was something I absolutely had to contribute to, so here I am! I hope you enjoyed what you were reading (and are still going to if you're here during the actual week); it's been a while since I wrote multiple fics for a fixed date and just barely got them finished haha


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